They're in the gym, working out. Well, Chris is. Tom's just sitting nearby, eating one of those fitness bars that taste like cardboard and watches his co-star stem barbells twice his body weight, biceps stretching with every upward push. It's glorious to watch, a real pleasure and Tom is quite enjoying the show of Chris unwittingly putting his body on display, so absorbed in his training, that he does not notice Tom ogling him like a horny teenager.
How can he not when Chris is wearing one of those terrible (wonderful) shirts that compliment his naked shoulders, sweat making the fabric cling his stomach like a sensual lover, the tight flex of every muscle visible whenever Chris pushes himself out of his crouch. It looks really professional, all deep breathing and measured lifts and Chris is just massive, pectorals and abs in perfect symmetry that he could compete for the title of Mr Universe. If Tom had any say in it, he'd win.
"Shouldn't you be running," Chris gasps out when he has set down the barbell with a groan, taking a break and glancing at Tom lounging on a weight bench.
"Shouldn't you still be running?" The sun rises with his grin and he's rubbing his face with the towel he's slung around his broad shoulders.
"I'm a god not a hamster," Tom says conversationally and slides his long, naked legs off the bench to stretch them in his blue running shorts. "You done?"
Chris rubs his upper arms, large hands smoothing over even larger muscles to work out the stress and Tom isn't sure what that bump on his shoulder is even called to begin with. Chris' body is simply amazing, worthy of a god of Thunder and Tom is glad Chris got the role assigned, not he. He isn't even sure he'd be able to build up half of the muscle weight Chris has. Whenever he works out, all he manages is a lean, tight look fitting for Loki but not Thor. He doesn't mind, it's much more fun watching Chris working out.
"Yeah. Just gonna hit the showers and then lunch, I guess." Chris bends down to pick up his key card for his locker and water bottle then casts him a look beneath blonde eyelashes that Tom has difficulty to decipher. "You'll join me?
"Let me just fetch my stuff," Tom indicates toward where the treadmills are all lined up in front of big tv screens on the other side of the gym and Chris nods. "Okay. I'm gonna go ahead. I reek like a gorilla's arm-pit."
"Now that you mention it." But Chris just shakes his head and they part ways.
By the time Tom reaches the locker room, Chris is already in the shower. He hastily undresses, pulling his shirt impatiently over his head where it gets stuck and he has to struggle far longer with it than absolutely necessary. It's not because of nerves, though. Of course not. Wriggling out of his shorts and underwear, he grabs a clean towel from the rack (courtesy service of the gym, which is good because he'd rather not use his own, sweat-drenched as it is) and skids into the common shower area, ignoring the low, tingling heat simmering in the pit of his stomach upon coming into view of Chris fucking Hemsworth's naked back side.
"Took you long enough," Chris says when he notices movement by the door, turning a grinning, soapy face at him and Tom steps under the opposite shower head.
"So impatient to show off?" he asks, stealing Chris' shampoo off the soap dish.The water has just the right temperature and he sighs, feeling the grime and sweat wash away and down the drain.
They keep their banter light and easy with Chris complaining about impending muscle ache and Tom moaning about his own weight loss for the role. But they are not alone and their conversation dies down after a while. Silence stretches between, unfamiliar and awkward, and Tom starts fidgeting with the tap's temperature regulation, warm water pouring down his head and plastering the curls against his temples.
He keeps eyes firmly closed, determined to not look at Chris or the dark, secret space between his legs by accident. He'd be mortified if his co-actor (or anyone, really) caught him staring. When the other men in the shower area finally leave, Tom's resolve crumbles and with his heart thudding loudly against his ribcage he sneaks a glance at Chris .The Australian has turned his face towards the jet of water, head tipped back, water cascading down his chin and powerful throat in rivulet. He seems completely at ease. Almost serene.
Tom's hoped for such a chance, naturally, who wouldn't? To be alone and naked, but the reality of it is something else entirely and he quickly averts his eyes again. Not only is Chris chiseled and perfect and wet, he is also touching himself, running broad hands over the ripped, taut expanse of his stomach. Tom isn't sure he can properly handle the sight.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he berates himself and almost jumps when that same warm hand touches his naked shoulder unexpectedly.
"Want me to wash your back, Tom?" Chris asks, voice slightly off but jovial enough that Tom doesn't think twice. He just chuckles because, god, it couldn't possibly sound any more like a come-on than it does and that's just terrible for Tom to assume, isn't it? It's probably nothing and he should get his brain out of the gutters. It does not stop him from accepting the offer, though, because he's just a man too, after all and the rare opportunity to have Chris' hands on his body is just too good to pass up.
"Thank you. That'd be... yeah, actually. I can never reach that one place," he says, feeling the calloused palm move between his shoulder blades like a branding iron.
"Where?" Chris runs a thumb along his spine, the water making everything smooth and slick. "Here?"
He glances at Chris' wet face to gauge his intentions. But his expression is unreadable, not exactly open, long hair sticking to the corner of his mouth and eyes dark. Tom has to clear his throat.
"No, more to the right. Lower." He can feel Chris taking a step closer, his body heat washing over him in a wave and Tom is thankful for the colder temperature of the water. He likes to think it helps with keeping the flush down that is spreading over his face and chest.
"Oh yeah," Chris almost-growls into his ear. "I can never reach that particular spot, either. Haha," he laughs low and deep and reaches past Tom's arm for the soap dish. His wrists are amazingly thick and Tom watches him squeeze out some of the shower gel into his broad palm.
"Watch and learn. I bet you've never had a rub down like that."
"I'll be impressed later," Tom mocks but his heart isn't in. It is, in fact, trying to jump out of his throat when Chris puts his hands on him again in a serious attempt to show him just how good he is with massages. The thumbs dig into the meat of his shoulders pleasantly, rubbing up his neck and into his hair before his palms glide down, fingertips just grazing Tom's side. Chris' hands feel impossibly large on his back as they map out his skin, feeling along the latissimus dorsi (and isn't it just wonderful what training at the gym can teach you?).
It's damn nice, that's for sure and Tom lets his head hang between his arms, fingers curling against the tiles. He could get lost in this, letting Chris gently soap him up as he is and he moves into each caress with longing.
"What about that part?"Chris suddenly asks, his breath ghosting across Tom's cheek and he wonders when he's come this close (close enough that he thinks he can feel the presence of Chris' crotch less than a hand width from the back of his thighs). His hands smooth down to the small of his back, fingers brushing the diffuse line where back turns to buttocks and he can't help but shiver, skin coming alive with goosebumps.
"Can reach it just fine," Tom finds his voice eventually but it sounds throaty, strained and there's blood pounding in his ears and in his cock, sex becoming heavy with the first terrible signs of arousal. Shit.
"Are you sure?" And then Chris is kneading his ass in a hungry, unyielding grip, fingers sliding low and just skimming his crack and Tom stands on the tips of his toes, not sure if he should move into the touch or away. There's an undignified noise leaving his mouth, not unlike a half-choked moan and he falls against the tiled wall, knees weak with the sensual assault.
"You like that?" Chris hisses, lips mouthing the back of his neck and yeah, okay, that had been a come-on, alright. No mistake there, not when Chris slides his hand lower, stroking the back of his balls. It makes things easier in a way because he doesn't have to be afraid of rejection or of being found out. Chris has just taken over responsibility and it's okay if he really does moan now, right? The trust they've built up over Thor and the last weeks of filming Avengers won't break just because of this.
"Maybe," he gasps. Chris arm sneaks around his middle, holding him steady, fingers splayed against his stomach and just the feel of that, his hands slick with soap and brushing along the lines of his abs (because he does have some too, thank you very much) sends a hot, pulsing wave of want down to his groin. He's hard, there's no denying it.
"Just maybe? Guess I'll have to try harder." Oh, he likes that arrogance, so atypical for the good-natured Australian but maybe that's his inner Thor showing and Tom has always wondered what the man would be like in bed. Rough? Demanding? Oh, definitely demanding. He can feel the evidence of that pressed against his buttocks as Chris leans in fully, slick chest against back, harsh breath in Tom's ear and Chris feels large and thick. It causes Tom's heart just to skip a beat and another when the hand that's holding him steady sneaks down to rub along his upper thigh, just shy of his cock.
"What if someone comes in?" He remembers belatedly and there's dread pooling in his stomach where there had been hot bliss beforehand.
"They'll turn around immediately, of course," Chris reassures, cupping his balls and tugging. Tom gives a violent jerk at that and his hand flies behind him to grab at Chris' hair, pulling his face closer to his own, anchoring himself. "They'll be too embarrassed."
"You and your sunny, ah, outlook." His voice is wrecked, breath coming in pants when Chris licks off the water from his jaw, fingers finally, finally! circling the base of his cock.
"I'll be quick." And Chris sounds still far too composed for his liking, but he can't complain. Not when Chris is pushing two fingers of his other hand between his lips, making him suck the water off of them. They taste slightly metallic, a bit like soap but overall clean and he scratches his teeth along the blunt digits, enjoying the full body shiver that rattles Chris' body behind him; enjoys even more the ragged breath ghosting along his shoulder as he tongues the tender skin between the knuckles.
"You're such a pervert, Hiddleston," Chris rasps and fists Tom's cock in earnest, intend on bringing him off. The water helps but it's still a rough sort of friction as the soap is all washed away and Chris' palm is a bed of callouses, pulling at the foreskin with every downward stroke. But it's good and he's moaning around the fingers in his mouth, clutching Chris' strong hips to keep himself upright. He can feel the powerful thighs under his hand trembling with his co-star's effort not to rut against his backside.
"Undressing me with your eyes all the time." Tom's stomach drops and not only with Chris' excellent observation. The man is layering his shoulder with slow kisses, all warm tongue before he pulls his fingers out of Tom's mouth, shoving him every which way around until he's got a fuzzy thigh forced between his legs from behind and both his hand on Tom's private parts.
"That's it," Chris groans against the back of his ear and Tom holds onto the wall again, to the soap dish, anything so he won't slip. He's not sure if he can stand up much longer, not with Chris' thigh rubbing against his balls just so, his hands jerking him off in determined strokes where he's running his thumb over the head, and every time Tom's breath hitches. The pressure is overwhelming and he can feel his pulse in his cock.
"How close?" Chris asks, breathless.
"Yeah," it's all Tom manages to gasp out and then Chris just pushes him around, up against the wall and they're face to face, kissing, tongue pushed deep into his mouth. His beard is rough and wonderful, chafing over the skin of his chin and he can't help but bite into Chris' lower lip, into the soft place beneath. Chris doesn't seem to mind just nudges his nose so he'll lift his head into another bruising kiss.
He tastes good, a bit like smoke and Tom groans into the mouth when Chris rubs his pectorals with his knuckles, thumbing at his nipples. He readily spreads his leg for the man to step between, enjoying the intimate press of Chris' crotch against his own. Grabbing at his hips, Chris aligngs their cocks and oh god --
"Fuck," Chris grunts as he wraps his large, large fist around them both, pumping and staring down at where they're touching and Tom follows his gaze. Chris' cock really is as big as the rest of him, a wonderful rosy color and he thinks he'll have to explore that body in full one day, take his time and follow each dip between his abs with his tongue, see what makes Chris moan and pliable under his hands. But for now this desperate fumble will have to suffice and he yanks Chris' hair and his eyes snap back up to Tom's face. His pupils are fully blown, water glistening in his brows and lashes and beard and he's beautiful like that, all flushed and wet.
His fingers curl against Tom's thigh as he leans in to drag his tongue along Tom's open lips. It makes Tom hyperaware of the pressure building at the base of his spine, toes curling and then Chris tugs at both their cocks a little tad too painful and he's coming with a choked moan, hips snapping up and sticky mess pulsing out of him in long spurts, coating Chris' hand and stomach.
"Wow," Chris says in amazement, stroking them both through Tom's orgasm until there's nothing left in Tom but shivers and pants. "You're all flushed." He lays one hand against Tom's neck (a thing he seems overtly fond of), smoothing a thumb over his burning cheek while he holds onto Chris' massive biceps, just breathes with their foreheads pressed together. He can still feel his heart beat trying to break his ribcage, shaken up from his release, all dizzy and giddy.
"Good?" Chris asks into the intimate space between their faces and Tom nods, eyes still closed. "You're hot stuff, Hiddleston."
"Bless you for saying that," he croaks and opens his eyes. Chris' face is immensely close, larger than life and he leans in for a quick kiss, snaking one hand down to Chris' still hard cock. He weighs it in his palm and the man's expression goes tight, nostrils flaring.
"Would you --"
"Yes," he says, glances only once at the entry to the shower area and wraps his long, nimble fingers around his girth. Chris' hand settles over his own, setting a hard, quick rhythm. It doesn't take long and Chris is panting into his neck, biting at the skin hungrily, one fist slammed against the tiles, all restless energy. He's straining into his strokes, hips following each touch and Tom likes that. Likes the power he has to render the man agreeable with such simple touches.
When he leans in to trace the outline of Chris' ear with his tongue, holding him fast by his neck, the Australian gives a groan which sounds suspiciously like "Fuck, gonna-" and Tom can't help but watch as he unravels. Body going tight, breath stuttering and his cock just gives the smallest of warnings, a slight twitch, sinews working in his lower stomach before jets of come pulse hotly over Tom's fingers.
Chris is a heavy weight as he slumps against him, but he doesn't mind, just indulges in the closeness, holding the Austrailian in a weak embrace while the water rushes down their bodies, clearing away the traces of their indecent behavior.
"You have to admit," Chris says into his hair after a while, voice a bit rough but otherwise steady. "That was one hell of a back rub."
"I am afraid I'll need another sample to make a proper judgement." Chris pushes himself off of him, eyes searching his face and Tom holds his breath, hoping against hope that this was not a one-time occurrence - because, really, he's never come this hard from a mere hand job before.
"I think this can be arranged," Chris says slowly. "For statistical purposes." And Tom is so relieved he's beaming, ridiculously happy and kisses Chris straight on the mouth, long fingers framing his handsome face. Just when Chris is in the act of leaning in, one arm wrapped around Tom's waist possessively, they hear the door to the shower area open. They are in different corners in an instant, guilt written all over their faces in red colors.
Tom busies himself with recapping the shower gel no less than three times, avoiding eye contact and hoping the new-comer won't comment on their flushed faces.
"Let's get out of here," Chris says non-chalantly and turns off the water just as a sweating, bald man puts his utensils on a soap dish, eying them suspiciously. "I'm starving."
"Chicken sandwich?" Tom asks hopefully, looking up. Chris is already at the small alcove where he's stored his key card and shower sandals, rubbing his hair dry before he wraps the towel around his hips. The few drops running down the middle of his stomach to the sparse blonde hair just vanishing under the fabric are very distracting and it's a herculean act to force his gaze up to Chris' face again.
"You betcha," Chris grins, tossing Tom his own towel. "I'll pay."
Seems he'll be going to the gym more often after all.